


XO

by miserablehoney



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: 2001-2009, Album: Folie à Deux (Fall Out Boy), Hiatus, M/M, Pre-Hiatus (Fall Out Boy), Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:16:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29561778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miserablehoney/pseuds/miserablehoney
Summary: He can feel his heart drop into his stomach when Andy and Joe walk out the side garage door. This is the beginning, he feels like a danseur sometimes, always resuming his place, the exact same recital plays on repeat.~~i shat this out in a few hours, it’s nothing special, didn’t even reread it, i’m not putting trigger warnings so i don’t spoil anything, but nothing’s too graphic.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Kudos: 6





	XO

He’s seventeen; his strawberry blonde hair is drenched in sweat, and a little bit of baby fat still clings to his jaw; reluctant to move. His shirt’s black, and the print of bowie is fading, little holes gather near the hem of his shirt, and litter his collarbone. His jeans are washed out; ativan blue, and the freshly made rips in the knees expose translucent skin, and bruises ranging from purple, blue and an ugly rotting brown decorate his shins and arms like tattoos. 

He flinches all too easy when his sinfully handsome band mate passes him a can of cherry cola. 

“Cheers, Tricky.” Pete grins, his lip creeps up and his canine teeth are on display, almost menacingly, blindingly white, sharp enough to draw blood and possibly cut through steel. 

“Thanks.” Patrick sighs, slumping back into the black leather couch. His other bandmates pretend not to notice, Pete pretends not to notice him flinch, but even Pete knows what he’s like behind closed doors; painfully self aware but that’s his thrill. 

He can feel his heart drop into his stomach when Andy and Joe walk out the side garage door. This is the beginning, he feels like a danseur sometimes, always resuming his place, the exact same recital plays on repeat. Pete saunters over to him; he reeks confidence as if he was the most powerful in the room. Technically, he is. He’s already taking off his shirt. Patrick will admit, Pete is very attractive. Even when his jet-black hair is matted and greasy from days of being too depressed to shower. His shirt collides with the cement floor, and the black minivan parked behind Pete reflects a bony and angular back, his spine almost stabs through his skin. Patrick wonders if all pretty people are filled with bad intentions; vanity turns red blood colourless. 

“You already know what’s going to happen, Tricky. It’s routine, you know what will happen if you fight it, just close your eyes and let it happen.” Pete runs his bony and articulate fingers along Patrick’s collarbone, tracing them through his shirt. 

“I don’t have to take this from you, Peter.” Patrick spits venom, “You know I could find another band to join where I’m not just some sort of sex toy for you to abuse. I know you’re doing the same to Janae. If you hurt me again I will leave, and never look back.” Pete smirks, he straddles Patrick, and starts tugging his Bowie shirt off. 

“You know you said that last time. You know that deep down, everybody else will overlook your talent, you’re just an ugly kid. I’m gifting you a wonderful opportunity, the price for that is incalculable.” Pete grips Patrick’s wrist, hard. His fingers seem to be crushing Patrick’s carpus. If Pete squeezes down any harder, Patrick is convinced it’ll snap off. He swallows hard, his eyes always struggle to meet Pete’s gaze. Patrick just sighs, he knows he doesn’t have a way out of this. The bruises and bite marks from the last time he resisted serve as a constant reminder that Patrick is small and insignificant in the grand scheme of things. His breath hitches when Pete bites down on Patrick’s neck. Defeated, he unzips his jeans. 

~~~~

He’s been scrubbing away at his skin for hours, it’s red and blotchy everywhere from the hot water. He hates this routine, he hates himself, he hates Pete. He feels disgusting, like a used condom. He isn’t sure if things will ever improve. He turns off the stream, and steps out. He pats himself dry, and ties a towel around his waist. He left his flip phone on the counter next to the sink, and to his dismay, he has five unread texts from Pete. 

pete_wentz 

23:14  
trick. im so sorry that i hurt you again. ur my golden boy, please please don’t hate me. 

23:16  
i’m sick in the head, i haven’t taken my meds in weeks. thats no excuse, i’m so fuckidg sorry. 

23:17

i never wanna hurt you again i can’t believe i dud rhat 

23:21  
i basicalky raped u i need to apolpgilxe pleas letme come over rn i need to

23:24

i promise things will be difgerwnt 

Patrick sighed. He wasn’t sure if Pete was a monster or if Pete was being controlled by a monster periodically. He decided to believe Pete was telling the truth. 

patrickk84:

23:31  
i know deep down you don’t mean to. my window’s unlocked, you know how to sneak in. i’m just at a loss on what to say. this has happened multiple times. 

pete_wentz:

i know, i’m gonna change i promise. i’ll be there in 15. 

Patrick set his phone down and threw on a clean shirt and shorts. His bowie shirt will probably lay untouched for a couple months at least, collecting dust as the scent of Pete and salty tears soak into the fabric. 

~~~~

Patrick is twenty four when it happens again. The extra weight had begun to slip off and his side burns were no longer around. This time Patrick was done. The pain boils up, until it’s too hot, and he boils over outside a venue after a show, behind the building where nobody can see, he lays into Pete. 

“What did you promise me when I was seventeen?” Patrick asks. Tears build up in his waterline, he refuses to cry. Never again, he vows he will never waste another tear on Pete again. 

“That I’d never hurt you again.” Pete looks down at his vans, he looks like a puppy that had been kicked in the face. “The last few months have been really hard on me.. I stopped taking my meds again back in Vancouver.” Patrick just sighs. 

“I’m over it Pete. I’m over the band, I’m over you and your excuses. We have four shows left. After that I’m done for good.” Patrick warns, his words and heart had frozen over, his veins shut off, they would never pump blood again. 

“Tricky please... I need you.. I might die without you.” Pete pleaded.

“Don’t care.” Patrick hissed. “You’re dead to me. When we go home, I never want to hear from you again. If people ask why we suddenly split up, say it’s because of the backlash from this album and the stress. I’m not telling the media that I’ve let you abuse me off and on for the past seven years.” Despite all his effort, Patrick can’t stop the tears from trickling down. 

“You’ve been stewing about that incident for the last month huh...” Pete sighed. “I hate what happens when I’m unmedicated, I wanna kill myself daily when I am, I just can’t win.” Pete takes a step forward, but Patrick hastily takes a step back. “Trick, please.” Pete begged. Patrick stood there motionless, but Pete understood what it meant. He slowly walked towards Patrick, and slowly reached his hand up to Patrick’s cheek. He caressed his thumb over it, massaging it into the porcelain skin. Patrick flinches, but leans into the touch. His eyes flutter shut, and Pete plants a soft kiss on Patrick’s lips.

Pete can taste rust, he assumes Patrick had bitten his lips at one point today out of stress. He feels sick to his stomach, he’s painfully aware again, he knows the damage he’s done is irreversible. It’s all of Pete’s empty promises, all of the scars and bruises Patrick has accumulated over the years. It’s the blood in the carpet back in Pete’s mansion, it’s the scars all over Pete’s leg from when they got in a fight and Patrick knocked him back into the glass coffee table. It’s the valentine’s day cards he keeps in his sock drawer, it’s the cutesy texts followed by insults and apologies, the nights spent falling asleep in each other’s arms, followed by another fight in the morning and sleeping alone for weeks. Pete pulls away after only a few seconds, and takes a step back. 

“I really love you Patrick.” Pete mumbles, his voice breaking up like the static on a radio, breaking the silence around them. Patrick hesitates for a second, before the honey spills, the calm after the storm. 

“I love you too.” Patrick sighs. He walks onto the tour bus and climbs up into his bunk, drawing the curtains, leaving Pete sitting alone with his back against the wall of the venue as the temperature begins to drop. 

~~~~

It’s been a solid eight months since Patrick had spoken to Pete. The band had gone on an indefinite hiatus and everyone had pursued their own projects. The tile floors are icy cold, reminding Patrick of the lake back in Chicago, always freezing over in December. Pete would always walk across the lake like an idiot, pretending to skate with his converses on as he slid around. Memories of Pete clouded his mind. Patrick had to get used to introducing himself, Pete always did it for them. Their names used to go hand in hand, PeteandPatrick. 

It’s rather late when Patrick gets an unexpected phone call. He lets it go to his inbox. He plays the message. 

“Hello Mr. Stump, we really regret to inform you that your friend Pete Wentz is in critical condition at the Cedars-Sinai hospital in LA. You were his emergency contact, he had ingested a large dose of benzodiazepines and his wrists were severely mutilated. He was found in his home by one of his managers after nobody had heard from him for days. His heart rate was thirty-seven BPM. We aren’t sure if he’s going to make it, when you hear this message please get here as soon as you can. Thank you.” 

Patrick shut his phone off and put it on his bedside table. He pulled the blankets up over his head and turned away. He closed his eyes and went to sleep effortlessly. He made a mental note to change his number in the morning.


End file.
